 Friday, February 09, 2007
On the back page of the February issue of Writing magazine, we asked you to come here today! Congrats! You made it! I'm glad that you did. Because we have a special treat in store for you...
Allan Knee is a famous playwright who has written a musical theater adaption of Little Women, a PBS miniseries adaptation of The Scarlet Letter, and a children's theater adaptation of Around the World in 80 Days. What Mr. Knee is most known for, however, is his brilliant play based on the life of J.M. Barrie. Barrie was the author of the classic children's book Peter Pan. Mr. Knee's play is called Finding Neverland. In 2004, it was turned into a movie of the same name, starring Johnny Depp.
WORD recently asked Mr. Knee a few questions about Peter Pan, J.M. Barrie, and his professional writing career. Enjoy.
WORD: Can you talk about the similarities between J. M. Barrie and Peter Pan that inspired you want to write your play?
Allan Knee: The purity and playfulness of both Peter Pan and J.M. Barrie caught my interest immediately. Both Peter and Barrie love life, and they love it in a very special way. They love life in its state of innocence and awe. They love play and adventure. And they're both eternally young, eternally hopeful and eternally naive. Yet there is also a sadness in them and about them. For the world and other people continually grow beyond them. And in the end, though they always cling to hope, they are both very much alone.
WORD: Why do you think the story of Peter Pan is so loved?
Knee: Peter Pan appeals to the child in all of us--the child who likes adventure, who wants no part of the adult world, who takes refuge in the magnificence of a place called Neverland, a faraway land filled with fairies and mermaids and pirates and crocodiles and timelessness. It is this innocence of the heart that captures us.
What could be more magical than the moment in which Peter wills the audience to clap its hands to declare its belief in fairies in order to bring Tinkerbell back to life? In an instant we are in a world of blind faith and imagination.
WORD: Why write plays? Is the allure still there for theatergoers?
Knee: I remember seeing a movie a few years ago about a tormented playwright. At a moment of extreme crisis the writer cried out, "I should have been a dentist, so I could have inflicted pain on others." How often I've repeated that line! But the truth is, I love playwriting, pain or no pain. I see life in terms of drama, conflict and resolution. I love creating characters. For me, playwriting is the most emotionally rewarding of all the literary disciplines. It gets to the heart of me.
I enjoy the collaborative aspect of theater a lot, even though there have been instances of great emotional turmoil. And audiences are sometimes terrifying to me. I want to reach every person. I want to please everyone. And I can't. I can't please an entire room, an entire theater. I can't please the entire world. Nevertheless, I want to. And that never stops.
Sometimes an amazing moment occurs when a stranger actually comes up to you and tells you how profoundly moved they were by your work and suddenly it all becomes worthwhile--instant healing. Of course, as a writer, I've experienced bad reviews--terrible reviews. And that never stops hurting. I never stop obsessing over how I could have made my work better. But when it comes down to it, writing plays is what I want to do. This is what I'm here for. Writing is my passion--it's my life. And nothing short of annihilation will turn me from it. That sounds a bit dramatic, but you know what I mean.
WORD: What advice do you have for our young potential playwrights?
Knee: My advice to young playwrights is to prepare yourself for a lot of rejection. Playwriting is an uphill battle. But many goods things in life are. And it doesn't mean you shouldn't do it. And if I had it to do over again, I would do exactly what I am doing. But the truth is, the world isn't reaching out for original plays today. But if this is what you want to do, if this is what brings you satisfaction and joy, then go for it. And don't let anyone tell you otherwise.
You have one life, you have to go where your passion is. And if you fall on your face, pick yourself up, wait a few hours, and start again. And if you smash into a wall, wipe off the blood, change the mood, play some music, do a crossword, and start again. And if you can, if it's possible, write every day, write something every day, keep a journal, free associate, write anything. And it doesn’t have to be good, don’t judge it. Hold back your critical facility, for awhile anyway. Keep the writing muscle alive and working. It's your gift.
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According to a well-worn proverb, a picture is worth a thousand words. In the January 2007 issue of Writing, we published a photograph this photograph in our "I,000 Words" column and asked you: What memory from your own life does this photograph prompt? What places or persons does it remind you of? Write a narrative essay that begins with the words "I remember ..."
OK, so the following piece doesn't officially comply with the above directions. It's a work of short fiction, not a narrative essay. Still, we think it's good writing and a poignant story. It comes to us from Catherine Hass, a 12th grader who is homeschooled in Pennsylvania.
Contrast
Carl was enraged. He walked up to the one-hour photo booth, and stood on line. He had been waiting for these pictures for two days. Apparently no one had taught John, the new employee at Quick Stop, how to use the machine, and they were backed up.
Carl was waiting for the pictures of his apartment building, now burnt and crumbly, for insurance purposes. "How," he thought, "could anyone be so stupid as to leave their space heater blazing so closely to their curtains? Of course this guy had to be right next to me, and the whole floor caught like wildfire."
Fortunately for everyone else, the fire was put out quickly. "Not quickly enough," Carl continued to rant silently. "Because here I am two days later, waiting for the pictures of my destroyed home. The worst part about it is that I’m stuck at my sister’s house for the next millennium."
Finally it was his turn. Carl walked up to the counter, got his delayed pictures, paid the ridiculously pricey amount, and got out of there as quickly as possible.
Once in his car, Carl ripped open the sloppily packaged photos and began leafing through them. They were mostly blurry renditions of the building, tall, looking as though it had been punched right in the stomach with a big charcoal fist. The last few pictures had been taken later to finish the roll; the pictures were of nothing more than the floor, maybe one or two of the leg of a table, or the tip of Carl’s shoe. He sighed heavily and threw them on to the passenger seat, not noticing that one of the pictures removed itself from the others, and flew to floor, eventually resting on its stomach.
When he started his car, the tiny white rectangle on the floor of his car caught his eye. Puzzled, Carl picked it up. At first he was disappointed; he thought that perhaps a lost memory was waiting to be discovered, but it was only another photograph of the day that he was trying hard to forget. He almost threw it back down to the floor, but then he actually surveyed the whole picture.
This one, he remembered, had been a shot he took farther away from the scene to show the last stretch of the extinction of the fire. Because he was so far away, and it was a disposable camera that did not allow him to zoom in, he had accidentally captured a moment in someone else’s life.
The bottom right corner of the picture was illuminated with joy. Inside a café, it was someone’s birthday. A woman was blowing out her candles, and a man stood grinning next to her.
Carl felt as though he was unrightfully looking into someone else’s life. Little did this woman know, two days ago on her birthday, that she had been caught making her wish and growing a little bit older.
Six months later, Carl ended up moving back into his refurbished apartment building. He had his photograph enlarged and placed it in the center of his apartment. It hung there, silently reminding him that wherever there is pain and discomfort, there is also a small corner of happiness glowing somewhere close by.
Editor's Note: What a great last sentence. What are some other sentences and images that stand out in this piece for you?
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Tuesday, February 06, 2007
 On my desk are 15 signed copies of R.L. Stine's book, Dudes, The School is Haunted! It is Book 7 in his Rotten School series. Would you like one? Because I would love to give you one.
Send an email to word@weeklyreader.com. Put "Signed Stine" in the subject line. And tell us how much you love Mr. Stine's work. That's it! That's all you have to do! You'd better hurry though. Before someone else gets your book!
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 Also, don't forget, we still have two signed copies of Julius Lester's Time's Memory to give away. Click here to see how you can get one!
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It really doesn't get any easier than this. FREE BOOKS! FREE BOOKS! FREE BOOKS! Who does that? And moreover, who gives away free books signed by the authors?? I'll tell you who...
WORD.
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Monday, February 05, 2007
Webster's Dictionary defines "Wordwork" as:
n. 1. What WORD gives you for homework.
2. Any of the rare species of underwater Gila Monster from ancient Atlantis.
Now, I don't think Webster's was necessarily right in either definition. First, because "homework" sounds like work... and Wordwork is more like... well, fun! Second, because I don't think Atlantis ever had Gila Monsters. And last, because Webster's never actually defined "Wordwork". That was a dirty, filthy lie on my part. Sorry. I was jut trying to set something up. And here it is...
Your Wordwork for this week: listen to your favorite song no less than 4 times. You can either listen to it back to back to back to back... or you can space it out over 4 days. The point being that you listen intently and (this part is important) whatever you do, do not sing along! Yes, I know you want to, and it is hard to resist. Take it easy, rock star. There is a reason to your devoted silence.
Listen carefully to your song. More carefully than you ever have before. And then, when you've heard something new (and you will), write about it. And then send your writing to us at word@weeklyreader.com. Write "Wordwork #1" in the subject line. We'll post the most thoughtful writings here. You have absolutely nothing to lose and so much more insight into your favorite song to gain. Best of luck.
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